Magic Carpets and Sapphires
by iceandfire105
Summary: Life inside the Bonfamille household started to fall apart the moment Madam's will was mentioned. Afterwards, came an adventurous tale involving a ginger haired man, two women with lifeguard tendencies, and the need to return home, back where one belongs. The story of The Aristocats, in human AU.


**Hey!**

**This is . . . well, it's technically a oneshot, but it's an entire story too, if that makes sense. So, yeah, it's a human AU of the Aristocats, one of the older Disney movies that I really like. :) Also, as you would have guessed, an actual person wouldn't be called Duchess. At least, no one that I've met, anyway. So I had to change that. I tried to make things as fitting as possible, so I hope you enjoy.**

**Make sure to review!**

**Cheers!**

**~Ice.**

* * *

_**Magic Carpets and Sapphires  
**_

The name "Bonfamille" was one that was particularly revered in Paris. You could ask anyone who knew their way around those of higher status, and it was a rare chance that they would not have even _heard_ of Madam Adeline Bonfamille, a formal, elegant woman well into her seventies who owned one of the grandest mansions in all of France, and perhaps the largest fortune.

Madam Bonfamille had one daughter by the name of Aimée, and a true treasure she was. An arrival late in Madam's life, she was still young, not quite twenty five, and to many she was one of the most beautiful women in all of Paris. She was a pale, slender figure with a head of long, blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Aimée was not all for show however, and was a rather intelligent woman. She could not be fooled easily, and though many men were desperate for her hand, she would take none of them. As she kindly told them each time, she wanted a man who appreciated her for who she was, not by what she looked like. She had learnt her lesson from the first time she had loved.

Aimée had been married a few years ago, and the result of it was three children, all triplets who were just turning five. Sadly the father had left Aimée before they were even a year old, and she had been raising them in her mother's estate ever since. It was a tale she didn't care to retell often, and so far, she hadn't needed to. But she was happy, and that was all that really mattered to her.

Aimée loved her children dearly. She had two boys, Toulouse and Berlioz, and a daughter, Marie. Madam also loved them, and she enjoyed having children to run around the large mansion. It filled the emptiness one always felt when in that house alone.

It was a warm morning on the fifteenth of July, 1910, when Madam, Aimée, and the children returned home to the mansion with a parcel. Aimée had no idea what was in it, but Madam certainly did, and she wasn't any closer to telling her at the present moment. The butler, Edgar Balthazar, pulled the carriage to a stop, and walked around to help Madam out, then Aimée, who was on the other side.

'Thank you, Edgar,' they both said graciously, and the man gave a small bow.

'Madam, may I take your parcel?' he asked. 'Madam, it really is much too heavy for you, Madam.' Aimée had noted a long time ago that he tended to use the term 'Madam' in almost every sentence when addressing the older woman. Secretly she found it rather amusing.

'Now, tut tut, Edgar,' Madam said, shaking her head and walking to the front door. 'Don't fuss over me.'

Marie had already come to Aimée's side, but Toulouse and Berlioz were playing with the horse, running in, around and behind her hooves.

'Berlioz, come back here,' Aimée said, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips. 'You as well, Toulouse.'

'Come along, Aimée, children,' Madam called as she disappeared through the doorway. 'Come along.'

She looked back around the frame of the door at Edgar, who had just positioned himself outside of it. 'Oh, and Edgar, I'm expecting my attorney, Georges Hautecourt. You'll remember him, of course.' With that, she went back inside.

'Of course, Madam,' Edgar said, even though she couldn't possibly have heard him. Aimée however, was there long enough to. 'How could anyone forget him?' He looked mildly amused at the thought.

Aimée did remember what had happened last time. The butler's attempts to assist Georges had been nothing but disastrous.

'Come, children,' Aimée said, ushering them inside. 'Let us meet Madam up in the study.'

* * *

The popping sound of a car exhaust on the street below made Madam and Aimée look up from the books they were reading.

'That would be him now,' Madam said. Aimée crossed the room to the window.

'It is indeed,' she said. 'Poor Edgar will certainly get some entertainment this time.'

Madam gave a quiet laugh. 'Oh, Aimée . . .'

There was the sound of commotion on the staircase just outside the door that went on for quite some time, and Aimée laughed softly at the endless possibilities that were crossing her mind.

With a small smile, Madam set her book aside and lifted a pink feather boa she had sitting across the back of her chair, before draping it over her arms. She then lifted another silvery coloured one out of a cupboard on the other side of the room, and gave it to Aimée. Giving her mother a smile, she also wove it about her arms. Madam looked into a full-length mirror that was sitting nearby, and swayed her arms a little, causing the feathers to flutter from the movement. It looked lovely with her dress.

'There now, Aimée,' she said, carefully touching her hands to her hair and pushing back the stray wisps. 'We both must look our best for Georges.' She pinched her daughter's cheek with a little smile. 'He's our oldest and dearest friend, you know.'

'And a wonderful man, truly,' Aimée added, gently running her fingers over the feathery mass wrapped around her.

There was a knock on the set of double doors. At Madam's 'Come in!' they were pushed open, and, breathing heavily, Edgar slumped against one of them. His clothes were distinctly ruffled, and by the look of it, his suspenders had snapped.

Aimée's thought has confirmed when his trousers promptly dropped around his ankles. Hastily pulling them up, Edgar said, 'Announcing . . . Monsieur . . . Georges Hautecourt.' He took another deep breath, and looked quite as though he would like to sit down.

Inside hobbled a frail looking old man with a shock of white hair and a walking stick. His legs constantly trembled, and he obviously struggled to walk properly. Aimée knew him for his eccentricities, but also knew he was a very good lawyer.

'Oh, my goodness, Edgar, I know Georges,' Madam said, smiling as the butler attempted to fix himself up.

'Adelaide, my – my dear,' Georges cried, walking straight over to Aimée.

'So good to see you, Georges,' Madam said, watching the old man, who kissed Aimée's hand, obviously under the false impression that she was her mother.

'Ah, still the softest hands in all of Paris, eh?' he said, as Aimée put her fingertips to her lips and giggled slightly.

'You're a shameless flatterer, Georges,' Madam said, laughing.

The sound of a record started up as Berlioz started playing with the record player, turning the handle with one hand and riffling through some records with the other. The familiar sound of Habanera rang clear as day throughout the room.

'Adelaide, that's – that's music -' Georges squeezed his eyes tight, listening. '- it's from "Carmen", isn't it?'

'That's right,' Madam said, nodding and reaching up to tuck back some of the flyaway strands of hair on Aimée's head. 'It was my favourite rove.'

'Yes, yes, it was the night of your grand premier that we first met, remember?'

Madam had formerly been a well-known opera singer, which was one of the reasons she owned such a vast fortune.

'Oh, indeed I do,' Madam said, nodding again and going along with the old man.

'And how we celebrated your success,' he said. 'Champagne, dancing the night away . . . do-do, do, do, do-do, do, do . . .' He hummed along with the tune, dancing in a rather peculiar manner. Both Madam and Aimée swayed along with it, and Georges charged in and caught Madam in a partner dance. It was an amusing sight, because he was so much shorter than her.

Berlioz was watching the record spin around and around, putting his hand on the disk but lifting it up just before it got caught under the needle. It was constantly going so fast, that in the end his hand got caught and zipped beneath the arm, halting the record and making it play off-tune. Madam laughed slightly, and sank down onto the grand, velvet-lined wooden seat behind her.

'Just in time,' she said, sounding a little out of breath. 'Ah, Georges, we're just a pair of sentimental, old fools.'

Georges was still dancing around with his walking stick, humming: 'ra, ta-ta, te, tum . . .'

Madam laughed. 'Now, Georges, do be serious. I've asked you to come here on a very important legal matter.'

Georges perked up at the mention of this as Aimée sat on the seat beside her mother. 'Oh, splendid, splendid!' he cried. 'Who d'you want me to sue, eh?' He made his way around the desk in a rather awkward fashion.

'Oh, come now, Georges,' Madam said, a little sterner this time. 'I don't wish you to sue anyone; I simply want to make my will.' She ended this on more of a smiling note, looking at the old man as he sat down in the chair behind the desk and fished a pair of spectacles from inside his coat.

'A will, eh? A will . . .' He also pulled a pen from his coat, and took a clean sheet of paper from off the desk. He finally set the pen to the paper, and looked up.

'Now, then. Who are the beneficiaries?'

* * *

' . . . as you know, I have only one daughter, Aimée here, and she has three children of her own . . .'

Madam Bomfamille's voice carried up the pipe from the study into the room where Edgar stayed, and he was listening to the conversation as he ironed the coat he had tried so hard to look after. That man really was a senile, old fool.

' . . . naturally, I want them to be always well cared for. Certainly, no one can do this better than my faithful servant, Edgar.'

Edgar paused, and lifted the iron away from the coat, listening intently. If this was going where he thought it was . . .

'Edgar?' Georges cried, sounding slightly surprised. Edgar sat down the iron and walked over to the pipe, putting his ear right up against it, so not to miss a single word. 'Adelaide, you mean to say you're leaving a vast fortune to Edgar? _Everything_ you possess? Stocks and bonds? This - this mansion? Your country chateau? Art, treasures, jewels and -'

Realisation dawned upon him, and Edgar began to jig out of excitement. Things were finally going right at _last . . ._

'Oh, no, no, Georges,' Madam said, 'to my daughter and her children, of course.'

Edgar froze, and a sinking feeling flowed through him. Oh dear . . .

'To all descendants?' Georges said, asking for confirmation.

'Yes, Georges,' Madam said.

Edgar sat down on the bed, feeling horribly disappointed.

'I simply wish that I have Aimée inherit first,' Madam said, 'then her children, and if they produce heirs of their own, their children. If however, this doesn't happen for whatever reason, my entire estate will revert to Edgar.'

'It's not fair,' Edgar said indignantly, standing up abruptly and smacking his head on the pipe. 'I mean, each of them will live to about eighty, I can't _wait_, and there are _four_ of them – that makes . . .' He tried to count it up on his fingers but ended up giving up. 'But anyway, that's _much_ longer than I'd ever live.' He picked up the pair of trousers he had just mended, and clutched them to his chest.

'I'll be gone,' he said in despair.

After a moment's thought, it hit him.

'No, oh no . . . _they'll_ be gone. I'll think of a way.' He started to pull his trousers on. 'Why, there are millions of reasons why I should! All of them dollars. _Millions_.' He gave himself a firm nod. 'Those inheritors have got to go.' With one, final effort, he tried to pull on his trousers and tore them straight down the middle.

* * *

Three children sprinted up the path towards the mansion late that afternoon, hustling to get to the door first.

'Wait for me, wait for me!' black haired Berlioz shouted, hurrying to catch up with his brother, who was in the lead.

'Me first, me first!' little, blonde Marie cried as they all turned and ran up the steps. The red headed boy, Toulouse, tried to run through the doorway first, but Berlioz stepped on his heel and all three of them piled up in the doorway.

'Why should _you_ be first?' Toulouse asked his sister indignantly.

'Because _I'm_ a _lady_, that's why,' Marie huffed, her hair slipping out of the braid it had been woven into.

'Aha, you're not a lady,' Toulouse said as Marie climbed off the pile-up first.

'You're nothin' but a sister,' Berlioz said, grabbing her by the hem of her dress and pulling her back.

Marie made a noise that said she was very put-off as she slid backwards into the doorway, and Berlioz hopped over her. She sniffed haughtily as both of her brothers took off. '_I'll _show you if I'm a lady or not.'

With that, she got up with a squeal and chased after them, all the way up into the piano parlouir upstairs. The three of them fought and roughhoused, and when Marie tackled Berlioz, he said, 'Hey, fight fair, Marie.'

'Females _never_ fight fair!' Toulouse announced, balancing atop a chair and waving about a candlestick. He dropped it, and it landed on Marie's head, splitting in two.

'Ouch, now that hurt!' Marie shouted. 'Mamma, mamma!'

'Marie, darling, you must stop that,' Aimée said as she came through the doorway, smiling, but shaking her head at her daughter. 'It is really not ladylike. And Berlioz,' she said as he shook bits of wax out of his hair, 'such behaviour is _most_ unbecoming to a lovely gentleman.'

'Well, she started it,' Berlioz huffed.

'Ladies do _not_ start fights,' Marie said, primping herself and closing her eyes, 'but they can finish them.' She shot her brother a sharp look. Berlioz poked his tongue at her.

'Berlioz, don't be rude,' Aimée said.

'We were just practicing fighting,' Berlioz said innocently.

Aimée just shook her head, smiling a little and straightening Marie's braid. 'Aristocrats do not practise fighting and things like that; it's just _horrible!_'

'But someday,' Toulouse said, jumping down from the chair, 'we might meet a tough guy in the streets.' He punched the air for extra effect.

Aimée laughed a little. 'Now that will do. It's time we concerned ourselves with self-improvement. Now, you want to grow up to be lovely, charming ladies and gentlemen – Toulouse, you go and start on with your painting.'

'Yes, mamma,' Toulouse said meekly. He punched the air a few more times on the way to his easel on the other side of the room.

'Mama, may we watch Toulouse paint before we start our music lesson?' Marie asked as Toulouse began squirting tubes of paint onto a palette and mixing them. 'Please?'

Aimée gave a nod of consent. 'Well, yes my love, but you must be very quiet.'

Doing his best to look professional, Toulouse put his brush in the big, messy glob of paint on the palette and began smearing it on to the canvas. It looked like a collection of blobs at first, but over time it came to resemble something that looked remotely like a face. He gave it a green and orange background, and for the final touches, splattered some red in the middle of the face.

'It's Edgar!' Marie cried, making the connection.

'Old picklepuss Edgar!' Berlioz added.

Aimée couldn't help herself. She laughed a little, and made vain attempts to stifle it in her hand. '"Old Picklepuss"? Now, now, Berlioz,' she said, trying to be stern as her son was almost rolling around on the floor in laughter, 'that is not kind. You know Edgar is so fond of all of us, and takes very good care of us.'

* * *

In the kitchen, Edgar was preparing the food to be sent out for that night's meal. The cook had left not two minutes earlier, and he already had the bottle of sleeping pills clutched tightly in his hand, and was uncapping it. He tipped almost the entire bottle into a bowl and crushed them up into a fine powder, before tipping it into both Aimée's and the children's bowls of soup.

'Oh, Edgar, you sly old fox,' he said to himself. He stirred them up and added a bit of cream to disguise the taste, and was just lifting the spoon to his lips to test it before he stopped himself.

'Oops, oh dear,' he muttered, pushing the spoon away with his other hand. 'Slip of the hand and off to dreamland.' He went back to stirring the soups. 'I say,' he said after a moment's thought, 'that's not at all bad – slip of the hand, dreamland . . .'

* * *

Aimée looked up as the door to the piano parlour opened, and Edgar stepped inside.

'Good evening, Ms Bonfamille,' he said politely, addressing Aimée. 'Dinner is served, if you would like to come down to the dining room.'

The children could not have gotten out the door any faster. Within moments of Edgar announcing that, Toulouse had abandoned his painting, Berlioz, who was playing the piano, cut off mid-song, and Marie instantly stopped singing. They ran out the door and disappeared instantly. With a soft laugh, Aimée gave a polite nod to Edgar, and followed them.

They met Madam down in the dining room, and were greeted by steaming bowls of hot soup, ready to be eaten.

Dinner was a pleasant affair, as it always was, and the soup was quite nice. By the end of it however, the children were clearly quite tired, and Aimée herself was feeling rather dull and fuzzy in the mind.

'I, I think I'm going to go to bed,' Marie said quietly. 'Good night, Mamma. Good night, Madam.' She slid off her seat and left the room.

'I think they are all tired,' Aimée said, laughing quietly as Toulouse and Berlioz yawned rather audibly. 'I think I shall put them to bed, Madam.'

'I believe you should, too,' Madam said with a smile.

With a quiet, 'Come along, children,' Aimée took her sons by the hands and led them upstairs to the room that the triplets shared, before tucking them both into bed. Deciding that she too, would benefit from a sleep, Aimée then crossed the hall, but didn't really have the time to consider changing into a nightdress before she collapsed into her own bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

* * *

It was nearing midnight when Edgar cautiously crept out of the house, Aimée Bonfamille held in his arms as he looked around to ensure no one was nearby. Feeling satisfied at that, he walked over to his motorcycle parked nearby, and slid her into the sidecar. He then returned inside, where he had left the children, all curled together right on the doormat. They hopefully wouldn't take up much space, and would all fit. Sure enough, that sidecar must have been built for the largest of people, so he managed to fit them all in without difficulty. None of them woke up, as they were still heavily drugged from the medication.

He got onto the motorbike and started it up, driving out onto the half-lit, cobblestone streets of Paris. He narrowly avoided driving straight past the police station, and had to turn around and take a different path.

He was far too nervous about this – too many things could go wrong.

It was several hours before he was out driving through the countryside, aiming to get as far away as possible. They couldn't be able to find their way back to Paris before they hopefully died from a lack of nourishment, or something just as grim.

Though when he heard barking, Edgar panicked a little. Dogs loved to chase motorbikes, and he doubted he would be an exception in any case.

The barking drew steadily closer, and before Edgar knew it, he had two dogs on his tail, running as fast as he drove. When one of them took a leap and latched onto his back, Edgar veered violently, driving straight down to a riverbank. The sidecar snapped off, and the Bonfamilles all tumbled out, getting lost among the long grass and reeds. But Edgar didn't have time to retrieve them – here would have to do. Desperately needing to get away from the dogs, he drove off.

* * *

Aimée awoke to the sound of thunder rather abruptly. She looked up, blinking as lightning struck somewhere and temporarily made everything go rather bright.

'Oh!' she cried, as she realised something. She wasn't in the mansion at all. She was outside, in a place she didn't know. 'Children, where are you?' she cried, getting unsteadily to her feet and looking around. 'Answer me! Berlioz? Toulouse, Marie, where are you?'

'Here I am, Mamma,' came Marie's tiny voice as she crawled out from between some reeds. Aimée hurried forward and drew her close.

'Marie, darling. Are – are you alright?'

'I – I guess I had a nightmare and fell out of bed,' she murmured sleepily, apparently unable to see properly just yet.

'Now, now, Marie, darling, don't be frightened -' Aimée started, but she was cut off by someone calling out.

'Mamma, Mamma!'

'That's Berlioz!' Marie said.

'Over here, darling, Berlioz, here we are!' Aimée called, looking around, starting down into the river. 'And don't worry, everything is going to be alright . . .'

Cold and shivering, Berlioz started dragging himself towards the shore, out of the water.

'I'm coming, Mamma,' he said, his voice pitifully quiet and afraid. He paused as he looked at something Aimée couldn't quite see. Then there was a loud croaking, and Berlioz screamed, dashing up out of the water and over to his mother.

'Oh, darling,' Aimée murmured, laughing slightly. 'That's only a little frog, my love.'

'But he had a mouth like a hippolotamus,' Berlioz insisted. He reeled backwards as he heard more frogs croaking in the distance, and Marie giggled.

Berlioz glared at her. 'Oh, what's so funny?'

'Now, darlings, just stay here,' Aimée said, before any fighting could start, 'and I'll go look for Toulouse.' She walked away, looking around and calling her son's name. She hadn't gotten very far before she had Marie calling her back again, insisting that he had been there the entire time.

'Oh, thank goodness,' Aimée murmured, drawing her son into a hug. 'Are you alright?'

'I was having a funny dream,' Toulouse said quietly. 'Edgar was in it.' He stopped and frowned. 'And we were all riding and bouncing along . . .' He paused as he heard frogs croaking. '_Frogs?_ Uh oh. It _wasn't_ a dream. Edgar did this to us.'

'Edgar?' Aimée asked, feeling slightly shocked at her son's accusations. 'Oh, no, no, darling, why that . . . why that's ridiculous.'

Berlioz grinned. 'Yeah. Maybe you fell on your head, Toulouse.'

Lighting flashed again, and Marie backed up, straight into Aimée. 'Mamma, I'm afraid. I wanna go home.'

'Oh, now, darling, don't be frightened -' Aimée started soothingly, but a crash of thunder incredibly close to them made her cut off and scream a little.

'Oh, okay now, get under the bridge, all of us.' Aimée ushered her children under the stone bridge nearby as rain started falling heavily.

'What's gonna happen to us?' Toulouse asked, sounding forlorn.

'I just don't know,' Aimée murmured. 'It does look hopeless, doesn't it?'

'I wish we were home with Madam right now.'

'Oh, poor Madam,' Aimée said quietly, sitting down in the grass beneath the bridge and drawing all of her children into a hug. 'She'll be so worried when she finds us gone . . .'

* * *

The sound of thunder woke Adelaide Bonfamille that night, and she rose, her mind on her daughter and grandchildren.

'Oh my gracious,' she murmured. She had the most horrible dream about them. 'Thank goodness it was only a dream.'

She left her bedroom and walked down the hallway. She knew how much the children hated thunderstorms.

'Now, now, my darlings,' she said as she pushed open the door to the children's bedroom, 'don't be frightened, the storm will soon pass -'

She broke off suddenly as she took in the empty beds before her.

'Oh no,' she said faintly. 'They're gone.'

She hurried out and went into Aimée's room. Upon seeing her daughter's also empty bed, the panic fully began to set in.

'Aimée!' she cried. 'Children! Aimée! Where are you?'

The next morning when Roquefort the paper boy arrived, a good friend of the Bonfamilles, Adelaide informed him in despair of their disappearance. The seventeen year old all but dropped the papers on Adelaide's doorstep and took off almost immediately to search. Adelaide however, feared it would all be in vain.

* * *

The storm had cleared up when Aimée awoke the next morning, and when it wasn't dark, she came to realise that the bank was really a lovely place. The children were still asleep beneath the bridge, so she stepped out into the sunshine, not caring in the slightest that she was still a little damp, and most likely looked a mess.

What caught her by surprise though, was when she heard singing. A man singing, to be precise.

' . . . I'm Abraham de Lacy Giuseppe Casey Thomas O'Malley . . .'

There, walking along the other side of the river, was a handsome, red haired man wearing a checked shirt with his hands in his trouser pockets. 'I've got that wanderlust, gotta walk the scene. Gotta kick up highway dust, feel the grass that's green.' He reached the bridge and turned onto it, coming closer to Aimée. 'Gotta strut them city streets . . .' He suddenly looked down over the edge of the bridge and spotted Aimée. A grin crossed his features. 'Showin' off my eclat, yeah! Tellin' my friends of the social elite, or some cute gal I happen to meet, that I'm Abraham de Lacy Guiseppe Case Thomas O'Malley, O'Malley the "alley cat"!' He stepped lightly off the bridge and plucked a blossom from a tree just beside Aimée, and put it in her hair.

Aimée laughed lightly. 'Why, monsieur, your name seems to cover all of Europe.'

'Of course,' the man said. 'I'm the only man of my kind.'

'And certainly not a cat,' Aimée said amusedly.

'I'm king of the highway, prince of the boulevard, duke of the avant-garde - the world is my backyard. So if you're goin' my way, that's the road you wanna seek. Calcutta to Rome or home sweet home - in Paris, magnifique, you all.' Aimée quirked a smile, and suddenly feeling a little self-conscious, worked to straighten her hair.

'I only got myself and this big old world, but I sip that cup of life with my fingers curled. I don't worry what road to take, I don't have to think of that. Whatever I take is the road I make. It's the road of life, make no mistake for me. Yeah, Abraham de Lacy Giuseppe Casey Thomas O'Malley. O'Malley the "alley cat"!' He gave her a nod. 'That's right, and I'm very proud of that. Yeah!'

Aimée laughed, and clapped her hands together. 'Bravo! Very good – you are a great talent!'

'Oh, thank you,' Thomas said modestly, but she could see laughter twinkling behind his eyes. 'And what might your name be?'

'My name is Aimée,' she said.

'Aimée,' he repeated. 'Beautiful. Love it. And those eyes . . .' He leaned forward a little, still smiling at her. 'Why, your eyes are like sapphires, sparkling so bright,' he said, straightening up and giving her a nod. An obvious flirt, but for once Aimée didn't mind. 'They make the morning _radiant_, and light.' He started walking around her, his hands clasped behind his back.

'Oh, c'est tres jolie, monsieur,' Aimée said. 'Very poetic. But it is not quite Shakespeare.'

''Course not,' he said. 'That's pure O'Malley, baby. Right off the cuff, yeah. I got a million of 'em.'

'Oh, no more, please,' Aimée said. 'I really am in a great deal of trouble.'

'Trouble?' Thomas repeated. 'Helping beautiful dame – uh, damsels in distress is my specialty. Now what's the hang-up, Your Ladyship?'

'Well, it is most important that I get back to Paris,' Aimée said. 'So if you would be just so kind and show me the way?'

'Show you the way?' Thomas said, grinning broadly. 'Perish the thought. We shall fly to Paris on a magic carpet, side by side.' He gestured out towards the sky, leaning his head in toward hers. 'With the stars as our guide.'

Just behind him, Aimée could see that Marie had woken, and was approaching O'Malley with a look of interest and excitement.

'Just we two,' Thomas finished.

'Ooh, that would be _wonderful_,' Marie said sweetly, looking up at O'Malley.

He stiffened a little and turned to look at her in slight shock. 'Three?' Then Berlioz appeared and hurried to stand beside his sister. 'Four?' Finally Toulouse joined the group. '_Five?'_

'Oh, yes, monsieur O'Malley, these are my children.'

'Oh, how sweet,' he said, but his smile then seemed slightly forced.

'Do you really have a magic carpet?' Berlioz asked eagerly.

'And are we really gonna ride on it?' Marie finished.

'Now, now, Marie,' Aimée said with a little smile.

'Mamma,' Marie asked, 'do I have sparkling sapphire eyes that dazzle too?' She shot a childish smile at Thomas.

'Oh, did I say that?' he asked, suddenly looking rather embarrassed.

'Yes,' Aimée said, rather enjoying this. 'Right off your cuff.'

'And you said we're gonna ride on your magic carpet,' Berlioz said pointedly.

'Well, now, uh . . . well I meant, you see, I -' He looked at Aimée imploringly.

'No poetry to cover this situation, monsieur O'Malley?' she asked teasingly.

'Well, what I had in mind was kind of a sports model, baby,' he said. 'You know, one of those -'

'Perhaps a magic carpet built for two?'

'I wouldn't take up much room,' Marie said sweetly.

Aimée sighed. 'I understand perfectly, monsieur O'Malley. Well . . . come along darlings.' She gestured out to her children, and they started to follow her. As he passed him, Toulouse said, 'I'm a tough guy too.' He punched at the air again in demonstration.

'Hey there,' Thomas said, starting to grin a little again. 'You're comin' on. I bet you're a real tiger in your neighbourhood.'

'Yeah,' Toulouse said. 'That's cuz I practise all the time.'

'Now, now, Toulouse, come along, dear,' Aimée called. They had just reached the top of the slight hill where the bridge ended.

'Yes, mamma,' Toulouse said, turning back around to follow her.

'See ya 'round, tiger,' Thomas called after him.

Aimée did feel a rather unpleasant sense of disappointment. She really had been hoping he would be of some help . . .

They were walking away when he called after them. 'Hey, hey, wait up there.'

Aimée turned, hope flaring up in her chest. 'Yes, monsieur O'Malley?'

'Now, look, kids,' he said, leaning down to them. 'If I said magic carpet, then magic carpet it's gonna be. And it's gonna stop for passengers right . . .'

He turned to look at the dirt road around them, before walking away a little and drawing an X in the dirt with his boot. 'Here.'

'Oh boy, we're gonna fly after all,' Berlioz said excitedly.

'Another flight into the fantasy, monsieur O'Malley?' Aimée asked, smiling a little.

'No, no, no, baby,' he said, shaking his head. 'Now you just hide over there, and you leave the rest to J. Thomas O'Malley.' He jumped and grabbed a thick branch on the tree above them, before hauling himself up in among the leaves.

'Quick, mum, get in here,' Toulouse said, dragging her to a clump of long grass.

'But, children -'

'Hurry up, mamma, hurry,' the three of them insisted, and next thing Aimée knew, she was hiding amongst the grass with her children.

A cattle truck was puttering down the road towards them, which was possibly the only vehicle that ever used this road. The man driving it didn't look friendly in the slightest. Aimée could see Thomas up in the tree, watching it as though it were his prey.

'One magic carpet comin' up,' he called down to them, a grin more than evident on his face. Aimée wondered with dread what he had in mind.

'That's a magic carpet?' she whispered faintly, right before Thomas leapt off the branch with the grace of a cat, straight onto the bonnet of the truck.

'Sacre bleu!' Aimée heard the driver scream, as Thomas bounced off the truck and dove into the long grass on the other side of the road, tumbling down the slope and disappearing from sight. The truck swerved violently and coughed to a stop as the man evidently stamped on the brakes.

'Sapristi!' he shouted, waving his fist at the air around him as he walked over to restart the car. 'Stupid man! Brainless lunatic!'

As he busied himself with winding the car up again, Thomas strolled back up the hill, just out of his sight. 'All right, step lively!' he said quietly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. 'All aboard for Paris!'

The children scrambled into the back, but Aimée approached him, feeling more than a little worried. 'Why, Mister O'Malley, you could have lost your life,' she murmured. Thomas waved her off, but he seemed pleased at the concern she was showing.

'So I got a few to spare,' he said lightly. 'It's nothin'.'

'How can we ever thank you?' she asked as she climbed up into the back of the truck.

'My pleasure, entirely,' he said with a modest nod. With a loud splutter, the truck started, beginning its trip once again, albeit very loudly.

'Aloha,' Thomas called over the noise, so they could just hear him. 'Auf weidersehen. Bon soir. Saranora. And all those goodbye things, baby.'

Marie leaned towards the edge of the truck and waved. 'Sayonara, Mister – oh!'

Marie tumbled over the edge of the truck and into the dirt. Some of the cows jerked violently at the noise she made, and Aimée let out a cry of panic as the truck started gathering speed. 'Marie! Marie!'

In an instant Thomas was running forward and scooping her up, now already chasing the truck. With a gigantic leap he managed to deposit the girl on the back of the truck, but ended up desperately hanging on to the back in an attempt to keep himself up.

'Oh, Marie, are you alright?' Aimée asked.

Marie gave a little nod. 'Yes, mamma.'

With a bit of a groan, Thomas hauled himself up so his head rose up high enough to see them. 'Haven't we met before?' he asked jokingly.

'And I'm so very glad we did,' Aimée said with a small smile.

'Thank you, Mister O'Malley for saving my life,' Marie said sweetly.

'No trouble at all, little princess,' he said, finally pulling himself onto the truck. 'And when we get to Paris, I'll show you the time of your life.'

'Oh, I'm so sorry,' Aimée said a little sadly, 'but, well, we just couldn't.'

The children looked at her, rather upset.

'You see,' she continued, 'my mother will be so worried about us.'

'Well, people don't usually worry too much about their kids, especially when they're all grown up,' Thomas said in an attempt to reassure her.

'Oh no,' Aimée said, shaking her head. 'You just don't understand. She loves us very much.' She looked out into the distance, watching trees and fields shrink as they drove past. 'Poor Madam, in that big mansion, all alone. In all our days, in tender ways, her love for us was shown. And so, you see, we _can't_ leave her alone. She'd always say that we're the greatest treasure she could have. Because with us she never felt alone.'

* * *

'Oh, Roquefort, I've been so worried about you,' Frou-Frou said. She stepped away from the horse she was grooming and came over to him. 'Did you have any luck at all?'

He shook his head sadly. 'Not a sign of them, Frou-Frou. And I've searched all morning.'

'I know,' the stable girl said softly, 'and poor Madam still hasn't slept a wink either.'

'Oh, it's a sad day for all of us,' he said quietly.

The sound of joyous humming drew steadily closer to the door, and both under the impression that they_ really_ shouldn't be in the stables with the horses just then, dove behind the nearest haystack.

'Morning, my pretty steeds,' Edgar called out to the horses as he marched on in with a bucket in hand. He patted the nearest one on the head, before hesitating and hissing, 'Can you keep a secret?'

He laughed to himself. 'Of course you can.'

He set the bucket down and pulled a newspaper out of his pocket. 'I've some news straight from the horse's mouth, if you'll pardon the expression, of course.'

Both Roquefort and Frou-Frou frowned and looked at each other.

'Look,' he said to the horse, holding up the paper as it unravelled. '_I've_ made the headlines.'

_Mysterious Kidnapper Abducts Family._

He read out the title rather proudly. He chuckled. 'Oh, aren't you proud of me?'

_So, he's the kidnapper,_ Roquefort thought. Anger settled in the bottom of his chest, and it took all of his self-control not to react, and stay hidden. Judging by her expression, Frou-Frou was struggling to do the same.

'The police say it was a "professional, masterful job",' Edgar continued, puffing out his chest. '"The work of a genius". Not bad, eh, old girl?' he said to the horse, smacking it on the rump with the now rolled up newspaper. The horse whinnied, startled and alarmed, and chuckling, Edgar walked out.

* * *

The truck puttered through the countryside, and looking out over the view, Thomas said suddenly, 'Anyone for breakfast?'

'What breakfast?' Toulouse asked excitedly.

'Where is it?' Marie said.

'Right under that magic carpet,' Thomas said, gesturing to a tarp that Aimée knew was covering a few tins of cream from the cows around them. 'But now we have to cook up a little spell. You know.'

The children looked at each other excitedly.

'Ready?'

They all nodded.

'Alright. First, to make the magic begin, you wiggle your nose.'

They all did just that.

'And tickle your chin.'

Once again, they did as he said.

'Then you close your eyes, and cross your heart . . . then presto, breakfast, al la carte!' He lifted up the tarp quickly, and the lid came off one of the pails, revealing the cream inside.

'Hooray!' Marie cheered.

'We did it!' said Toulouse.

'Look, mamma, look!' Berlioz cried. The three of them were more than eager to scoop the cream out of the tin with their hands.

'Why, Mister O'Malley, you are amazing,' Aimée said, even though she felt a little guilty they were stealing this man's cream.

'True,' Thomas said with a little more than a modest nod. 'True.'

There was a sudden cry of 'Sapristi!' and the truck slammed to a stop suddenly. 'Sacre bleu!'

Suddenly alarmed, the five of them rushed to get out of the truck, already running off as the driver's voice sounded after them. 'Thieves! Robbers! Mangy tramps!'

They hurried over a railway track and into a wooden building.

'Oh,' said Aimée, feeling horrified as she watched the truck drive away. 'What a horrible, _horrible_ man!'

'Well, some people are like that, Aimée,' Thomas said. 'I've learned to live with them.'

'I'll show him,' Toulouse said grumpily, punching the air in the direction of the quickly disappearing cattle truck.

'Hey, cool it, you little tiger,' Thomas said. 'That guy's dynamite.'

'But he called us tramps!' Toulouse said indignantly.

'Oh, I'll be so glad when we get back home,' Aimée said, shaking her head.

'Well, that's a long way off, so we better get movin',' Thomas said.

The children ran over to the railway track, which extended over the water and over the land on the other side.

'Gee whiz,' Toulouse said. 'Look at that bridge. Come on, let's play train.'

The three of them got into a line on the track.

'Now, be careful, children,' Aimée called.

'Marie's the caboose,' Toulouse said. Marie gave him a look.

'All aboard!' Then the three of them were shuffling along, with Toulouse making train noises as the front. Aimée and Thomas followed behind.

Toulouse was still making train noises. 'Woo, woo!'

_HONK, HONK!_

The five of them looked up in alarm as they saw a train charging down the track toward them.

'Oh no!' Aimée cried.

'Alright now, don't panic,' Thomas said quickly, and the five of them swung down the wooden support beams onto the framework below the train. It was a terrifying moment as that heavy piece of machinery thundered over them.

When it finally passed, Aimée and Thomas looked up through the track to see the train already disappearing in the distance.

There was a splashing noise from a long way below, and a strangled cry of, 'Mamma!'

Marie was floundering about in the fast-moving current below, struggling to stay above the water.

'Marie!' Aimée shouted, leaning over the edge of a beam.

'Keep your head up, Marie!' Thomas shouted. 'Here I come!'

Before Aimée could register what was going on, he had leapt off the track supports and dove into the water.

It was a long, horrible few seconds before he surfaced and paddled over to Marie, grabbing her by the arm and swimming over to a floating log. Aimée herself was already climbing down the supports, Toulouse and Berlioz following quickly behind, and running along the rocks beside the river, hurrying to catch up to them. Thomas scrabbled to hold onto both Marie and the log, losing grip occasionally and punting the bit of wood a few feet away from him before being able to grab it again. Aimée had overtaken them now, and was making her way across a branch that hung over the river.

'Thomas!' she called. 'Thomas, up here!'

Moments before the log was swept past her, he got enough of a grip on Marie to toss her up to Aimée, who staggered slightly on the sudden weight and nearly fell in for herself.

Toulouse and Berlioz had only just finished climbing down the train track and were now hurrying to catch up to them as Aimée set a cold and shivering Marie down on the ground.

'Gee, Marie,' Aimée heard Toulouse say as she took off after Thomas. 'Why did'ja have to fall off the bridge?'

'Thomas!' Aimée called, hurrying along the edge of the river. 'Oh, Thomas, take care!'

'I'm alright, honey, don't worry!' he called back, still attempting to successfully cling to the log as it rushed further and further away from her. 'I'll see ya downstream!'

Then he disappeared behind a clump of trees that were hanging over the water.

* * *

Floundering around in water was something O'Malley hated the most. He couldn't swim. Not that it was a fact that he went around openly admitting, but it was true.

He bobbed and struggled with the log when the sound of girlish laughter filled his ears. He quite pointedly ignored it, before grabbing an opportunity to leap off the log and grab onto a willow branch. Keeping a firm hold on it, he started with great, frog-like movements in an attempt to reach the shore.

'Sir, sir!' someone suddenly called out. Sparing a look up, O'Malley saw two women standing on the shore; one in a pink bonnet, one in a blue. Pink Bonnet was the one talking to him.

'You are _most_ fortunate we happened along,' she said, her accent distinctly British.

'Yes,' Blue Bonnet said. 'We are here to help you. We're professional swimmers, you know.'

'Oh, no,' O'Malley groaned. 'Back off, girls, I'm doing fine!'

But the bonnet-heads were navigating their way over to him, over rocks and through reeds, until they were quite happily wading out into the water where he was. They didn't seem to care at all that they were getting their dresses wet.

'First, you must gain self-confidence by striking out on your own,' Blue Bonnet said.

'Go away!' O'Malley insisted. 'I'm tryi'na get to shore!'

But they quite promptly ignored him.

'You will never learn to swim properly with that willow branch in your hands,' Pink Bonnet said.

'Indeed,' Blue Bonnet agreed.

O'Malley was just starting to back up onto some rocks, and was hoping to be able to push himself towards shore.

'Snip, snip, here we go.'

'Don't do that!' O'Malley yelped, and with that, he tumbled further downstream, floundering and falling further beneath the water.

'You're doing _splendidly_,' Blue Bonnet said.

'And don't worry about form,' Pink Bonnet added, 'it will come later.'

They both weren't bothered in the slightest that O'Malley was very close to drowning.

He heard the final comment of 'He takes to water like a fish, doesn't he?' before he went under.

In a desperate attempt to surface again, O'Malley grabbed what felt like the hems of the women's dresses, and he heard muffled squawking above, plus some violent movement. At that, he lost his grip and began sinking to the bottom.

* * *

Abigail and Amelia, both in fits of laughter, began to trail off as they realised that the man had not resurfaced.

'Amelia,' Abigail said, suddenly looking rather worried. 'You don't suppose . . . ?'

'Oh yes,' Amelia replied. 'Yes I do.'

They looked at each other before Amelia said, 'Bottoms up!'

* * *

That was it. He was done for. This was the end of Abraham de Lacy Giuseppe Casey Thomas O'Malley, the "alley cat". Ironically, he was drowning. Nicknames were really rotten luck sometimes.

Then he felt two sets of hands grab him by either arm and haul him to the surface.

Coughing and spluttering, O'Malley found air once again. Slinging his arms over their shoulders, the Bonnet sisters began bringing him to shore.

'You really did quite well for a beginner,' Blue Bonnet told him.

But what couldn't have been a more welcome face was Aimée, standing on the shore, looking relieved to see him.

'Oh, Thomas,' she said, hurrying forward to help the ladies deposit him on the ground. 'Thank _goodness_ you're safe.'

'Keep practising,' Blue Bonnet said, smiling and tapping him under the chin.

'And toodlie-pip!' Pink Bonnet finished. O'Malley shook himself free of water and got to his feet, more than disgruntled. Toulouse walked forward.

'Could I help you, Mr O'Malley, huh?'

O'Malley just coughed in response, before saying, 'Help? I've had all of the help I can take.'

'Thank you _so_ much for helping Mr O'Malley,' Aimée said, going over to the Bonnet sisters who were just walking away, sopping dresses and all.

'Of course, my dear,' Pink Bonnet said. 'But first, introductions.'

Grumbling, O'Malley busied himself with wringing out his shirt.

'Yes,' Blue Bonnet added. 'We British like to keep things proper.'

Toulouse and Berlioz looked up at them, slightly shocked at their incessant giggling.

'Now, I am Amelia Gabble,' Pink Bonnet said, 'and this is my sister -'

'Miss Abigail Gabble,' Blue Bonnet finished.

'We're twin sisters.'

'You might say we're related.'

They both started laughing again, as though this were a joke they shared often.

'How nice,' Aimée said, laughing with them. 'I never would have guessed.'

'We on holiday,' Abigail said, once they had all finished up their giggling session.

'For a walking tour of France,' her sister added.

'And swimming some of the way.'

'On water, of course.'

And, as could be expected, they started laughing again. Aimée however, seemed to be enjoying their company.

'Thomas,' she said, coming up to him as he continued to dry himself out. 'This is Amelia and Abigail Gabble.'

'Yeah, honey,' O'Malley said irritably, 'get those two lifeguards outta here.'

'Now, now, Thomas,' Aimée said, shaking her head a little.

'Okay, okay, baby,' O'Malley muttered. 'Hiya, chicks,' he called over to the bonnet heads.

They both burst into giggles again. He just scowled a little.

'We're not chickens,' Abigail, finally said. 'We're ladies.' She said it as though it were quite obvious.

'_No_,' O'Malley said, his voice that of mock surprise. 'I thought you were swans.'

Aimée looked at him disapprovingly and he immediately regretted that, though the Gabbles didn't seem to mind.

'Oh, flatterer,' Amelia said, putting a hand over her heart.

'Your husband is very charming, and very handsome,' Abigail told Aimée. O'Malley, who was now shaking himself out a bit more, paused.

'Well, you see, I – I'm not exactly her husband,' he put in, after getting over that momentary shock.

'Exactly?' Amelia posed questioningly. 'You either are, or you aren't.'

'Alright,' he said. 'I'm not.'

'Oh?' the sisters said in unison, suddenly looking quite unimpressed by him. They immediately began muttering amongst themselves.

'It's scandalous.'

'He's nothing but a cad.'

'Absolutely, possibly a reprobate.'

'A roue. His eyes are too close together.'

'Shifty, too.'

Berlioz came and stood beside him, and O'Malley smirked at him, quite amused by these women's apparent observations.

'And look at that crooked smile.'

'His chin is very weak, too.'

'Obviously a philanderer who trifles with unsuspecting women's hearts.'

'How romantic,' Marie sighed.

'Please, please, let me explain,' Aimée said. 'Thomas is a dear friend of ours. He's just helping us to get to -'

'C'mon, Aimée, come on,' O'Malley muttered, standing by her side and cutting her off. 'Let's get out of here.' He looked up at the Gabble sisters. 'Well, girls, see ya' 'round!'

He started walking away. 'We're on our way to Paris.'

'Oh, how nice,' he heard Abigail say. 'We're going to Paris ourselves.'

'Why don't you join us?' Amelia asked.

He whirled around.

'I think that's a splendid idea,' Aimée said, smiling pleasantly.

'Oh _no_ . . .' O'Malley muttered.

'When we get to Paris you _must_ meet Uncle Waldo,' Amelia said to the group.

'Waldo?' O'Malley asked incredulously.

'Yes, he's our uncle,' Amelia said again.

'We are to meet Uncle Waldo at Le Petit Café,' Abigail said.

'Le Petit Café,' Aimée repeated. 'Oh, that's that famous restaurant. Ah, c'est magnifique.'

* * *

It was dark by the time they finally arrived in Paris, and the cobblestone streets were lit up by street lanterns. They were a not far from the café when Abigail said, 'Why – why it's Uncle Waldo!' She pointed to a drunk looking man further up the street wearing a battered top hat and swaying about, using a lamp post to stay upright.

He let out a cry of surprise when he looked their way and saw the Gabble sisters.

'Ah! Abigail! Amelia! Ahaha, my two favourite nooses!'

'Uncle Waldo.' Amelia tutted but had a smile on her face. 'I _do_ believe you've been drinking.'

'Girls, it's outrageous,' Uncle Waldo said indignantly. 'Why, you would not believe what they're trying to do to your poor old Uncle Waldo. Look – look at this.' He pointed to the menu on the wall. '_Prime country goose a la provencale, stuffed with chestnuts and basted in white wine.'_ He hiccupped.

'Basted?' Thomas muttered. 'He's been marinated in it.'

'Ah, yes, Uncle Waldo, he -' Amelia started laughing a little as she tried to explain this to Aimée. 'When he is drunk, he thinks he's a goose.'

'Oh,' Aimée said, smiling in amusement. 'Ah.'

'Dreadful,' Waldo said. 'Being British, I would have preferred . . . sherry.' Both he and the Gabble sisters started laughing at this. He let out a loud cry of 'Sherry!' before falling over and landing on his backside.

'Oh, Uncle Waldo, you're just too much,' Amelia said through laughter.

'You mean he's _had_ too much,' Abigail said in response.

There was more laughter.

'Abigail,' Amelia whispered, 'we'd best get Uncle Waldo to bed.'

'Why, I say there, now,' Waldo said drunkenly, 'what's all the whis-whispering about, huh?'

The sisters tried to shush him, but he continued, 'Now, now, now, now, girls, girls! Don't shush your old Uncle Waldo. Why you'll – you'll wake up the _whole_ neighbourhood!' He was shouting now, and they still attempted to quiet him down.

'Whoopee! Neighbourhood!'

'Oh, Uncle Waldo,' Abigail hissed, grinning broadly.

'Yes, I think we'd better be going,' Amelia said though laugher. They both looped one of their uncle's arms around each of their necks, and walked away laughing and tittering with their drunken relative.

'You know somethin'?' Thomas asked as the rest of them watched them walk away. 'I like Uncle Waldo.'

Aimée started laughing again. 'Especially when he's marinated.'

* * *

Several hours later, they were still walking through Paris, so tired that little Marie was actually on Thomas' shoulders.

'But Thomas,' Aimée murmured, speaking for the first time in a while. 'Madam will be so worried. Are you sure we can't get home tonight?'

'Mamma, I'm tired,' Marie said.

'Me too,' Berlioz added, 'and my feet hurt.'

'Look, baby, it's late and the kids are bushed,' Thomas said quietly.

'I'll bet we walked a hundred miles,' Toulouse said pitifully.

'I'll bet it's more than a thousand,' Berlioz said, sitting down right where he was standing.

'Now, now, darlings, cheer up,' Aimée said. 'Mr O'Malley knows a place where we can stay tonight.'

The children all perked up at this.

'How much farther is it, Mr O'Malley?' Toulouse asked.

Thomas laughed. 'Keep your head up, tiger,' he said. 'It's just beyond that next street lamp.'

Sure enough, they rounded a corner and came out before an old, beaten down house, falling apart at all of the hinges.  
'Well, there it is,' Thomas said. 'My own penthouse pad.'

Suddenly the sound of a trumpet rang out, clear as day, immediately followed by a variety of other instruments.

'Uh, oh,' Thomas said, suddenly looking rather pleased. 'It looks like Scat Cat and his gang are here.'

'Friends of yours?' Aimée asked, starting to think that these "cat" titles were something shared around Thomas and all of his friends.

'Uh huh,' Thomas said. 'Yeah. They're old buddies and they're real swingers.'

'Swingers?' Aimée posed. 'What's a swinger?'

'You know,' Thomas said. 'Uh, not exactly your type, Aimée. Maybe we'd better find another place, huh?'

'Oh no, no, no,' she said, smiling a little. 'I would like to see your pad, and meet your Scat Cat.'

'Well, okay,' Thomas said with a shrug. He pushed open the front door.

'Hey, Scat Cat!' he shouted. 'Blow some of that sweet stuff my way!'

'Well, looky here!' someone called back, from a long way upstairs. 'Big man O'Malley is back in his alley!'

'C'mon,' Thomas said, to them, and led the four of them up several flights of worn down stairs up into a large bedroom. There was a collection of strangely dressed men in there, all with an instrument of some sort.

'Lay some skin on me, Scat Cat!' Thomas called, throwing his hands up in the air and grinning at his friends. They all greeted him enthusiastically, and from what Aimée could tell, they were all from different nations. But Thomas led Aimée straight over to a wide man wearing a black and red bowler hat, saying, 'Aimée, this is the greatest cat of 'em all.'

'Oh, I am delighted to meet you, monsieur Scat Cat,' Aimée said with a smile, trying out the strange nickname.

He took her hand and kissed it. 'Likewise, Ms Aimée. You are too much.'

'You are so charming,' she said. 'And your music is so – so _different_. But so _exciting_.'

To put it lightly, Aimée had not really heard jazz music before. But she enjoyed it immensely. It almost – dared she say it – put classical tunes to shame.

'It isn't Beethoven, Mamma,' Berlioz said, starting to dance to the music, 'but it sure bounces.'

'Say,' Scat Cat said with a chuckle. 'This kid knows where it's at!'

Then the music began to overtake everything.

'How 'bout you and me, Aimée?' Thomas asked, offering his hand to her.

'Yes,' she agreed with a smile. 'Let's swing it, Thomas.'

'Now you're talkin' like us,' Thomas said, grinning.

The night passed in a whirl of jazz and dancing, and Aimée had never had so much fun in her life. But before she knew it, the band of musicians had left, taking their music with them.

So she put the children to sleep in the grand bed that had been taking up a large portion of the room, and climbed out of a window on the roof, meeting Thomas who was sitting just beside the chimney. She wasn't fazed at all by the height or the slope, and he seemed surprised to see her joining him.

'I'll bet they're on that magic carpet right now,' Thomas murmured, looking down into the room at the sleeping children.

'They could hardly keep their eyes open,' Aimée said, smiling a little. 'Ah, such an exciting day.'

'It sure was,' Thomas answered. 'And what a finale.'

'Thomas, your friends are really delightful. I just love them.'

'Well, they're kinda rough, you know, around the edges, but if you're ever in a jam, wham, they're right there.'

'And wham, when we needed you, you were right there,' she said softly.

'That was just a lucky break for me, baby,' he replied.

'Thank you so much for offering us your home,' she said. 'I mean, your _pad_. It's very nice.'

'Well now, wait a minute,' he said, seeming rather surprised. 'You know, this is the low-rent district, remember?'

'No, no, no, I like it.' At his disbelieving look, she continued, 'Well, uh - well, all it needs is a little tidying up and, well, maybe a little _feminine_ touch.'

'Well, if you're applying for the job . . .' He trailed off, looking at her with such an intensity that Aimée started to feel a little self-conscious once again.

'Boy, your eyes _are_ like sapphires,' he murmured. 'Gee . . . that's pretty corny though, huh?'

'No, not at all,' she replied quietly. 'Any woman would like it.' Then she realised how that sounded and desperately tried to cover. 'Oh, I, I mean, even little Marie.'

'Yeah,' he said, dropping his gaze a little. 'All those little kids, Aimée, I love 'em.'

'And they are very fond of you,' she replied, starting to feel relieved she had navigated out of those waters successfully enough.

'You know . . .' Thomas said. After a moment's pause, he carefully took her hand in his. Aimée blushed a little at the initial contact, but didn't pull away. 'They need – well, you know, a sort – a sort of a – well, a father around.'

Aimée suddenly realised what he was saying. 'Oh, Thomas,' she murmured. 'Thomas, that would be wonderful.' And she was not only saying it because it was true, but because it was what her heart was telling her. 'Oh, darling,' she said quietly. 'If – if only I could.'

'But why can't you?' he asked insistently, squeezing her hand a little.

'Because of Madam,' Aimée replied. 'I – I could never leave her.' She shook her head sadly.

'But – but Madam is – well, she's just another parent. You're just her heir.'

'Oh, no, no, we mean far more to her than that,' Aimée said, as Thomas' arm slipped around her shoulders. 'Sorry, my dear. We just have to go home tomorrow.'

'Yeah,' Thomas said, but his voice had a dejected tone to it. 'Well . . . I guess you know best. And I'm gonna miss you, baby. Huh, and those kids. Gee, I'm gonna miss them too.'

'Oh, Thomas,' Aimée murmured. She took his other hand and looked him straight in the eyes. 'I really am sorry.'

'I know you are, baby,' he said. 'And I am, too.'

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. Aimée didn't know what to do – she hadn't expected this, but her arms reacted before her head did, circling themselves around his neck and drawing him closer.

He finally broke away and murmured, 'Goodnight, Aimée.' Aimée slipped out of his hold and got to her feet.

'Goodnight, Thomas,' she whispered, before walking back along the roof to the window.

* * *

The sun shone brightly over Paris the next morning, lighting the streets and everything else it could touch. Aimée, Thomas and the children were now walking into the richer districts, and Thomas took it all in wide eyed.

'_Hey_,' he said. '_Wow._ What a classy neighbourhood. Dig these fancy wigwams.'

'Wigwams?' Aimée asked.

'Are you sure we're on the right street?' he continued.

She suddenly realised what he was saying. 'Yes,' she said with an excited nod. 'Yes, let's hurry, we're almost home!'

* * *

Roquefort, who had been stopping in to see Madam in light of late events, saw them approach through the window. 'Aimée. Kids. Hallelujah!' he cried, peering out of one of the windows. 'They're back!' He started hurrying toward the front door before a thought struck him. 'Oh no,' he murmured. '_Edgar_.'

The butler himself was lounging in the parlour, smoking a cigar with a glass of wine in his hand. Reacting immediately, Roquefort quietly eased the door shut and turned the lock, before dragging a chair in front of it to block the handles.

* * *

The three children were now running to the front door, letting out cries of 'Hooray, we're home!' They reached the door and Toulouse yanked on the handle, but the door didn't open. They all smacked into it.

'It's locked,' Berlioz said.

'Come on,' Marie said. 'Let's all start calling. Madam! Madam!'

* * *

Edgar was just taking a sip of wine when he heard it. The children. 'It _can't_ be them,' he hissed, looking around. He got up and ran to the door, but it wouldn't budge. He jimmied and rattled it, but nothing happened.

* * *

Roquefort banged at the front window. 'Don't come in!' he cried. But his warning fell on deaf ears. The children didn't hear him.

* * *

Aimée and Thomas stood at the front gate, both rather sad as they realised they would now be parting.

'I don't know what to say,' Aimée murmured. 'I only wish that I -'

'Maybe just a . . . short, sweet goodbye would be easiest,' Thomas said heavily. Aimée gave a small nod, and stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss.

'I'll never forget you, Thomas O'Malley,' she said, turning towards the house. 'Bye.'

'So long, baby,' Thomas said as she walked away.

The front door opened just as Aimée approached it, and she and the children walked inside.

'Aimée,' Edgar said, smiling at her. 'Where _ever_ have you been?' Then before she knew it, Aimée had a burlap sack over her head and her hands held firmly behind her back.

Aimée cried out and struggled, but that only earned her a sharp kick to the shins.

'You came back,' Edgar growled as she let out a yelp of pain, her voice apparently muffled by the sack. 'It just isn't fair,' he muttered.

'Edgar!' someone called from a fair distance away. Or perhaps it was just the sack. Aimée didn't know. 'Edgar, come quickly!'

_Madam_.

'Coming, Madam!' Edgar called, hurrying Aimée forward so quickly that she stumbled a number of times. She could hear from the whimpering next to her that the children were still there. There was the sound of a door opening, and Aimée was shoved roughly into a cooler room, before the door shut with a click behind her. 'I'll take care of you later,' Edgar muttered.

Wrenching the sack off her head, Aimée looked around. They were in the pantry. All three of her children were standing close by her skirts, looking afraid.

* * *

'Oh, Edgar, they're back. I heard them!' Madam said as she hurried down the stairs. 'Hurry, hurry, let them in.' Edgar ran to the door and opened it.

'Aimée! Children! Come here, my darlings!' Madam said, walking outside. 'Where are you? Come on.'

'Ah, allow me, Madam,' Edgar insisted, stepping outside. 'Aimée! Children! Toulouse! Berlioz! Marie!'

* * *

'His name is O'what?' Roquefort asked, pressing his ear up against the locked pantry door. He had no key, and couldn't open it, and it was quite soundproof, so he struggled to hear.

'His name is O'Malley! O'Malley!' Aimée said desperately.

'Abraham de Lacy Giuseppe Casey!' Marie added.

'Oh, never mind,' Aimée said. 'Run! Move! Go get him!'

'Yes, yes, I'm on my way!' Roquefort said, already hurrying out the door. He had no idea where Madam was, and doubted she would ever believe him if he pinned the blame on her loyal butler. So this O'Malley guy sounded like the best help he was going to get.

* * *

'Oh, it's no use, Edgar,' Madam said, shaking her head sadly. 'I'm afraid it was just the imagination of an old lady. I was _so _sure that I heard them . . .' She walked away, back upstairs.

'I'm _so_ sorry, Madam,' Edgar said. But a broad smile spread across his face all the same. Now, he had a truck to call.

* * *

Roquefort hurried down the street, chasing after the man that Aimée sought. He saw a ginger figure disappearing around the street corner, and hastened after him.

'Mr O'Malley!' he shouted. He rounded the same corner and jumped in front of the man who was walking along dejectedly. 'Hey, _stop!_' O'Malley looked at him in surprise.

'Aimée . . .' Roquefort gasped. 'Children . . . in trouble . . . butler did it . . .'

His eyes widened as he took in what Roquefort said. 'Look,' he said quickly. 'You get Scat Cat and his gang, okay? I'm gonna need help. Move!

'Just tell 'em O'Malley sent you and you won't have a bit of trouble!' he shouted, already turning and running back the way he came.

Minutes later Roquefort found himself rushing through the poorer areas of Paris, looking around wildly for this "Scat Cat".

'No trouble, he said,' he muttered. 'Well that's easy for uh, what's-his-name to say.'

He turned, and was greeted instantly by a maliciously grinning face. Roquefort jumped in surprise and backed up. But then there was another. And another. Soon he was completely surrounded.

'What's a little swinger like you doin' on our side of town?' one in a red and black bowler hat asked.

'Oh, please,' Roquefort begged, breathing heavily. 'I was sent here for help! By one of you lot!'

'This is outrageous, this is crazy!' Bowler Hat said, a wicked smile spreading across his face. The lot of them started laughing as Roquefort shrunk back.

'B-but honest!' he insisted. 'He told me just to mention his name!'

'So, start mentioning names,' one man with a heavy Russian accent said.

Then Roquefort was stumped. The name had actually slipped from his mind.

'Wait a minute, fellas,' he said. 'D-don't rush me. His name is O'Toole.'

'I don't dig him,' Bowler Hat said. 'Strike one.'

'_Ohh_ . . . O'Brian!'

'Strike two.'

'Oh boy. You do believe me, don't you?'

'Keep talkin',' a man with an English accent said.

'How about O . . . Grady?'

'Paperboy, you just struck out,' Bowler Hat said. 'Any last words?'

Roquefort trembled in fear, and he suddenly remembered who had gotten him into this mess in the first place. 'Oh, _why did I listen to that O'Malley?'_

'O'Malley?' Top Hat cried, an actual smile finally visible on his face. He _must_ have been Scat Cat. The rest of them also voiced the name, just as surprised.

'Hold it, guys,' Scat Cat said. 'This little guy's on the level!'

'O'Malley needs help,' Roquefort said stoutly. 'Aimée and the children are in trouble!'

The men all exchanged a look. 'Come on, cats,' Scat Cat said. 'We gotta split!' Then they all suddenly took off, running out of the alley.

'Hey, wait for me!' Roquefort cried. 'You don't know the way!'

* * *

O'Malley looked into one of the windows of the Bonfamille mansion to see the butler on the phone, Aimée gripped firmly in one hand by the hair, and the children all roped together and bound to his wrist. There were gags in all of their mouths. The butler then hung up, and dashed out the back towards the horse stables, dragging Aimée and the kids with him.

'Now, you pests,' the butler said once he was inside. O'Malley watched what was going on through a shattered window. 'You're going to travel first class. In your _own_ private compartment.' He wrenched open the lid of a trunk, and shoved Aimée inside, before unroping the children and piling them on top. He then shut it and slapped a padlock on it. 'All the way to Timbuktu. And this time, you'll never come back.'

Pure anger settled in the bottom of O'Malley's chest, and he slipped into the stables unnoticed, ready to give that butler what he deserved.

'Oh, we've got to hurry,' the butler said, now pushing the trunk towards the doors. 'The baggage truck will be here any moment, now.'

It was then that O'Malley dove on him with an almighty yell. He wrestled the man before diving forward and slamming the doors shut, making sure they were both bolted. The butler growled and ran forward as O'Malley focused on the trunk, before yanking it back open again. Then they both wrestled over the trunk for a minute, before the butler grabbed a wicked looking machinery blade and started swiping at him. O'Malley shoved a ladder at him, and after losing his first weapon, the butler resorted to a pitchfork. He chased after the other man with it, stabbing viciously before hurling it.

_Twang._

It stuck into the wooden wall, two of the points sitting on either side of O'Malley's neck. The butler ran across the room, yanked the door back open, and gasped in shock as he saw what was coming. He quickly closed it again, but it burst open as Scat Cat and his gang charged in, yelling something intelligible. The paperboy – Roquefort, he thought his name was, from what Aimée had told him – hurried over.

'Over there, they're in the trunk!' O'Malley said, pointing as he struggled to remove the pitchfork. The fighting on the other side of the stables was deafeningly loud. Roquefort knelt down and put his ear to the lock, trying to open it. O'Malley finally forced the pitchfork away, and was about to go help his friends when Roquefort suddenly yelled: '_QUIET!_'

Instantly there was silence. Everyone had paused in what they were doing, but the moment he had opened the lock, the fighting resumed. O'Malley rushed over and flipped off the lid of the trunk. He pulled the children out, and helped to remove their gags, saying, 'Everybody, outta here, fast!'

But before he could help Aimée out, the butler ran forward and slammed the lid shut.

'You are going to Timbuktu,' he growled, swinging about a club he had somehow acquired, 'if it's the last thing I do!'

Then someone yanked on a rope, releasing a bale of hay that had been strung up, right above the butler. It tumbled down and smacked him on the head, and he barely had time to recover from that before various objects were tossed down on him from above, some getting him stuck to a point where he couldn't move. When he fell off the trunk from overbalancing, O'Malley opened it again and pulled Aimée out, finally removing that sack from her head and giving her a brief embrace. Seconds after that happened, the butler had been shoved into the trunk and the padlock put back on it. It was shoved out the door just as the baggage truck arrived.

'Well, Mac, this must be the trunk, eh?' one of the drivers said as the two of them got out, walking around to the trunk.

'Yup. And she goes all the way to Timbuktu.'

With some grunting and apparent effort, they lifted up the trunk and tossed it into the truck.

Then it was gone.

'Yeah!' Toulouse yelled, punching the air in the direction that they left. 'Take that, Edgar!'

* * *

It was a pleasant night when the attorney Georges Hautecourt was called back to the Bonfamille manor. Up in the study, a small family was sitting on the sofa. Well, the soon-to-be family. Aimée knew that Thomas wasn't quite related to them just yet, but that was to change soon.

'Now,' Madam said from behind the camera. 'A little closer together.'

They all shuffled and did just that.

'Good,' Madam said. 'Look, Georges,' she said, turning to the man behind the desk. 'What do you think?'

'Very good, very good,' he said nodding earnestly. 'But I think we should get on with the will.'

'Yes, yes, of course, but, you know what to do,' Madam said, draping the black cloth over her head.

'Very well – scratch one butler.'

Aimée looked over at Thomas, who had actually, rather remarkably, been forced into a bowtie for the photograph. They both smiled, and exchanged a look of knowing when they heard what Madam said next.

'You know Georges, if only Edgar had known about the will, I'm sure he never would have left.'

Oh, Edgar _hadn't_ left. Willingly, of course.

'Aimée, it's wonderful to have you all back,' she said fondly, taking a comb and sweeping forward to tame the ginger hair on Thomas' head. 'And I think this young man is very handsome.'

'I think so, too, Madam,' Aimée said. 'And I'm not letting you take him off me,' she added jokingly. '_I'm_ his fiancée. You're the mother-in-law.'

Madam laughed. 'I know, dear, I know. And of course we're going to keep him in the family. We need a man around the house.'

'And Georges,' she added, 'we must be sure to provide for their future little ones.'

Thomas blinked rather rapidly at that statement, gulping rather audibly. Aimée nearly laughed, and just smiled at him knowingly. He finally seemed to recover from that shock, and she leaned her head into his shoulder as he smiled back at her.

'Of course,' Georges said. 'The more, the merrier.'

'Now, don't move,' Madam said, finally starting to take the photograph. 'And smile. Say cheese!'

The children went right ahead and said that, while Aimée and Thomas just smiled.

'Thank you,' Madam said. 'Now, children, run along downstairs. There's a surprise for you.'

With those words being enough to spur them, the children were out the door faster than Aimée could count them.

'I really do love those kids, baby,' Thomas said, taking her hand and lacing their fingers.

'I know you do,' Aimée replied. 'I know you do.'

'I wouldn't mind some more, you know,' he added. 'I mean -'

'Thomas,' Aimée said, laughing. They both walked out the door and down the hallway. 'It's quite alright. It was a rather forward statement, after all.'

'Yeah,' Thomas said. He turned to her.

'Those eyes still look like sapphires to me,' he said.

'Would it change?' Aimée asked.

He shook his head. 'Never. Never ever.'

And with a little smile, he dipped his head down to kiss her once again, just like that time on the roof of his old home.

'In fact,' he murmured, 'sapphires dull in comparison.'

* * *

**Hope you liked it :)  
**

**I'm planning on doing The Lady and the Tramp next; one of my favourite Disney movies.**

**Make sure to leave a review before you go. It would mean a lot to me. **


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